


They Demand Blood

by midge1



Series: they do not have some great mental health [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midge1/pseuds/midge1
Summary: they demand blood, and do not care whose it is(major tw, please do not read if you are sensitive to the tags, please)
Series: they do not have some great mental health [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160003
Comments: 9
Kudos: 109





	They Demand Blood

Technoblade stood in his doorway, cloak heavy on his shoulders. His crown felt like a weight on his heart. The sword slung across his back held endless souls. The crossbow stored away had taken the lives of many.

Mostly-empty potion bottles on his belt clinked as he strode further into his house. It stood empty and cold out in the tundra. Completely desolate by design. The wooden beams creaked and the stone felt like ice. His breath was visible in the air. The fire had long since gone out.

The voices in his head refused to quiet down. No matter that he had faced his enemies hours before, this time they refused to go quiet. The swell of half a million voices echoed around in his head a chant he could never forget. There had been no deaths by his hands and they were far from satisfied.

When they chanted and chanted he would always go and fight until their hunger was sated. But now there was nothing he could do. It was no matter that he had long since retired far north, the governments of the world had still come after him.

The voices refused to let him leave it be, and their attempted execution had been what finally broke his feeble resistance. They gloated at the end of that day, and he could do nothing but stumble home and hope his one remaining healing potion was enough to save him. They held no regard for his wellbeing as long as they got what they wanted at the end. Their so-called champion was just a pawn for their entertainment, and there was nothing he could do.

He was still reeling from the betrayal he had faced from his only remaining brother only a few hours before. The voices demanded retribution, but he refused. When Dream offered an alliance in exchange for revenge, he turned him down.

He broke his word and would not give over his free will for a favor he owed. The voices clamored in fury in his head as he announced his decision to all in the remains of the Community House, but he knew the repercussions would echo for far longer judging from the similar malice emanating from the admin.

He had swept his cape as he turned and left with his crown held high, but now his head hung low with the knowledge that there would be no escaping his inevitable doom. He paid no mind as the gold token of his past in the Nether fell to the cold floor and cracked.

The emerald swinging from his ear shone dully as he stared into the water basin. He let the heavy cape slip off his shoulders and didn’t bother fixing the hair that had escaped from his braid. His armor was uncomfortable as could be but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

He could only collapse against the wall as the voices seemed to merge into one and drive a sharp spike in the center of his skull. They had never been able to maintain themselves for this long, and their calls had never been at all easy to resist for as long as he could remember. Their chant had never wavered from what it had always been. The same for eternity.

There was only one way to stop them, to sate them, but there were none to fight nearby. He was unable to muster the energy to move at all. Yet still the voices persisted, with their same never-ending call. He was no god, only a vessel for the true demons of this world. An unwilling vessel, but one nonetheless.

The longer he had refused the voices, denied their calls for violence, the more discontented they became. His restraint over the years had been grating away at them. With every betrayal he faced from those he called friends, those he called family, he could feel his control slipping away. It was all he could do to keep them from completely overwhelming him earlier that day.

If he ever saw any of their faces again, the jeers and taunts, shouts of insults and aggression, he doubted he could stop them. No matter what they had done to him, through all their stabs in his back, he truly did not wish to kill them. They were who he cared for most, he would never wish them the harm they wished on him.

But the voices, oh the voices wished so much harm. They infected him long ago with their taste for violence and revenge and he was never quite strong enough to hold them completely back. He was no saint either, he resented the others plenty, but he could never bring himself to hurt them on his own. Yet the voices influence tended to overwhelm his defenses.

Today was the first time in years he had held them back, and they were not taking it kindly in the slightest. Their demands still pounded in his skull as he fisted his hands in his hair and drew his knees to his chest. The pain was unrelenting. Their calls were neverending.

He could only sit there as they demanded the same thing over and over and over, something he could not give them. Refused to give them. Promised years and years ago he would never sate their calls with it if there were none to fight. Yet their chanting echoed around in his skull past the point they ever had before.

His only solution seemed more appealing every second he had to endure the pain of the voices’ rage. Physical pain he had long since learned to take, but what they inflicted was much deeper than physical. It was a damage that left injuries that were invisible but hurt so much more than anything else. He had to answer their call, sate their satisfaction, or his sanity would fracture completely. Had it not already? He couldn’t tell.

His sword was still slung across his back, and it felt like the weight of the world as he slowly drew it out of the scabbard. His hands clutched around the handle of the enchanted blade that had taken the lives of so many. The words carved into it blurred before his eyes.

He remembered all the hours he took crafting it. He remembered being proud when it was finally finished, excitedly showing others before being brushed off. He was so young, but the voices haunted him even then. The voices that still haunted him now, screaming for what they knew he could give.

He had refused them for far too long, and now he must pay the price. The price they had always called for from him, the only thing that appeased them. A price he took from others, but now there was no one. A price he must take from himself. It was the only way.

`/msg Ph1LzA: They demand blood Phil, and they do not care whose it is`

`Technoblade was slain by Technoblade using [Orphan Obliterator]`

**Author's Note:**

> so i spreedran this in an hour and am now going to impulsively post it, my apologies


End file.
